Ma'at
by Raggedy Nib
Summary: Adrian frowned, twisting the fist back and around to pin her to the opposite wall, her arm at a socket-wrenching angle between them. He kept Laurie in the solid hold, using the gentlest voice he could muster, “I was hoping we could talk.”
1. Prelude

**AN: I do not own Watchman. I do not make any profit off of this work of fiction; all Watchman characters belong to their creators and DC Comics.**

**Prelude **

**My Name is Ozymandias, **

**King of Kings:**

**Look on my Works,**

**ye Mighty, and despair!**

_Alone._

Complete solitude was a rare thing for an unmasked vigilante and billionaire. In public, there were always photographers and journalists trailing in his wake. In private, calls and lusting secretaries came at him like bullets. You either took it or dodged them. When the quiet came, he valued it.

But this, the silence that thudded in his ears, was oppressive compared to the comfortable hum of inactivity he usually felt. Adrian Veidt, the hero Ozymandias, was seated on the steps of the media dais. Snow was piling up in drifts, more floating down through the shattered top of the pyramid where Dr. Manhattan had busted through the day before. Tinges of sunlight were starting to color the clouded sky. Dawn was approaching.

_Killing millions…to save billions._

Veidt clenched his hands, the right still bleeding sluggishly. Slim, expressive fingers curled and strained beneath the heavy leather of the gloves. He was still garbed in his typical costume of form fitting metal and latex, albeit worse for wear. His diadem was cast aside, hair lank and greasy from lack of wash. Unmoving, he had sat there for most of the night. Adrian stared fixedly at the ground as he went over the events of the day before.

He incinerated Bubastis, the poor creature. His heart clenched, remembering the last seconds of her life displayed on the monitor as the very particles that composed her sleek frame were separated and pulled apart into their simplest components.

Single handedly, he had tripped the switch that in turn had lit up major cities around the globe with the 'bombs'. Dr. Manhattan's recreated energy had blown a chunk out of Manhattan Island itself, but not all of it.

_New York._

_Moscow._

_Hong Kong._

_Los Angeles._

_Tokyo._

_London._

_Paris. _

_Beijing. _

Key points around the globe, every one. In minutes, they had been leveled as punishment for skimming the close line between peace and a nuclear holocaust. The avoidance of a World War and the assured billions that would die if such an event occurred did nothing to dampen the guilt of killing innocents. Adrian paled, his stomach clenching with nausea as he lurched forward and vomited bile onto the marble floor. He shook; sweat was beading under the fringe of his hair as he cradled his head and shut his eyes tight. A noble cause could never be more perverse to him, after the fact. He would live with their blood on his hands until his last breath.

Klaxons started their warning blare as the system picked up the radio of an incoming Veidt jet touching down on the airstrip, scheduled earlier in the planning to pick him up from Karnack at the appointed time. A day after the cataclysmic explosions that obliterated millions of lives, Adrian Veidt would expectedly rush back to New York from seclusion after hearing of the tragedy, ready to offer aid and massive funds to the world to begin reconstruction. In a moment, he would pull himself together and go out to greet his entourage.

He would return as a savior to the world, a hero. Not the executioner as was the truth.

_Right on time. Just as planned. I had to trick it…the greatest practical joke in history._

_Who was laughing? _

Bruised, bleeding, and broken, Adrian Veidt wept.


	2. In Memoriam

AN: Don't own Watchmen; wished I owned Adrian. Everything belongs to DC Comics and Paramount!

'_In Soviet Watchmen, thoughts go like dis!' _

"In Soviet Watchmen, dialogue go like dis!"

We all knew this pairing had to happen at some point!

Ozymandias/Silk Spectre II

Chapter 1 – In Memoriam

Cold sleet was pouring down on the squared off phalanx of umbrellas. Most seated under them were wealthy philanthropists, reporters, diplomats, or political figures. The memorial service was underway; a few key speakers were done with their rhetoric on the current events and the plead for more money.

'_In droves they came,' _thought Laurie.

Seated in near the back, she could vaguely make out the shape of Veidt as he went through the motions of his own speech.

'_Such a fucking bastard_.'

No one was the wiser as to what he had done. The deaths he so passionately lamented were on his hands.

'_All a twisted joke.'_

Her hand tightened on the revolver in her pocket. She'd brought it on a whim. Dan was busy with paperwork and repairs, as part of the house had taken damage from the explosion and the subterranean tunnel beneath it had mysteriously flooded. He didn't notice her slipping into a tight black tunic dress and leggings, loading the .35 with a fresh round, and walking out the door as far as she could tell.

Shrouded in her heavy winter coat, the collar popped to shield her neck from the cold wind, she huddled into her seat. The heels of her boots sunk into the soft, wet turf as she rose. The speech was concluded, and Veidt was making his way off the stage with a new secretary holding an umbrella over his valued blonde head. He was dressed in similar somber attire, a mutely colored tie in soft purple with black suit and overcoat.

'_That fucking purple,' _she thought.

It had become like red fabric to a fighting bull for her, inspiring enough memory and hurt to make her hand tighten on the handle of the gun.

This golden boy had killed her true father, broken down major nations with destruction, and inadvertently killed Rorschach with his demand to keep silent. This shot was long overdue.

Laurie made her way along the edge of the milling crowd, keeping her head low and her eyes fixed on her target.

She cut the pair off a bit further out of the way of the crowd, stepping firmly in his path to the waiting limo on the edge of the green. The Silk Spectre drew out the revolver, drawing it level with Veidt's heart.

"Adrian." She squared her shoulders, tilting her chin up to meet his eyes. She pressed down on the hammer of the revolver, an audible CLICK sounding as it was pulled back into position. Veidt's eyes showed little surprise, a ghost of a smile grazing his lips.

"Laurie." He gave no indication of stopping her. His stance was relaxed, hands in coat pockets. The redheaded secretary was another matter. She shook like a leaf in the wind, painfully unsure of what to do in the possible shootout.

"What happens if I manage to catch it again?" Veidt asked, withdrawing his gloved hands carefully, as if to show her their capability. His accent was present, voice dropping down to a soft, hypnotic murmur, "You're confused, Laurie. Angry. Alone. Dan doesn't understand, does he? The pain of losing two fathers. A mother on the brink of dialysis. Jon leaving for bigger and better things."

Laurie's hand began shaking, the gun's barrel wavering from its stationary position. Adrian stepped closer, closing the small gap between them. His chest was pressed right into the rim of the barrel, her finger poised on the trigger. Adrian sighed, a world weary look stamped on his face, "Pull the trigger, Laurie. See if it all goes away when I hit the ground and bleed out."

She choked, tears spilling out of her eyes as her finger relaxed on the trigger. The gun dropped to the ground with her, knees buckling with shock and emotion. Adrian sank down with her; the hem of his overcoat became soaked with grass and mud as he gently wrapped his arms around her shoulders. Wetness was seeping through her leggings, but she didn't care. All that mattered was this gnawing hole in her heart and a deeper sense of self-failure. Her head was pressed into the warmth of his shoulder as people passed by them, a few photographers snapping a photo of the emotional scene. They took it as a sorrowful show of emotion over the explosions, unaware it was that and much more.

Laurie Juspeczyk breathed in the fresh, cold air and heated scent of Adrian's skin. This was too much to take. She needed to get out of here and back to somewhere private to lick her wounds. Her hands curled around his biceps, balancing her as she staggered to her feet. Veidt rose with her, discreetly pocketing the gun to save face for both of them. They stared at each other for a few split seconds, the dazed look on her face fading into a resigned one. She turned on her heel, walking quickly out of the park to the street to hail a cab back to Dan's place.

Adrian watched her leave, a regretful look on his face. As the cab drove off, Laurie stowed out of sight inside, he turned to his new secretary. "You saw nothing." His voice had already melded back into the clipped American accent. The girl nodded feverously, her knees wobbling from shock. Veidt already missed Yvonne's cool and professional attitude, but the shot to her leg had her out of commission for at least another two months. "Radio the jet to start fueling for D.C. Nixon wants a meeting."

---

Dan had been on the couch, thumbing distractedly through the few channels on TV when Laurie stumbled through the front door. He went to her, catching her in his arms to shake her, asking where she'd been. She stared numbly at him, pushing her way to the stairs to their room. He followed with a worried look on his face as she grabbed a suitcase from the closet, starting to pack her things into it.

"I've gotta figure some things out, Dan. I just don't know myself anymore." Her tears thudded onto the leather valise, "Everything is falling down on my fucking head and I can't hear myself _think_ anymore. I need to find a quiet place and figure everything _out_." The bag was packed, enough clothes for a week along with all her toiletries she had grabbed from the bathroom.

Dan just stood there, the eyes behind the thick glasses blinking in disbelief. "W-wha…are you even coming back, Laurie?"

She sobbed, wrenching at a hank of long hair in frustration. "I don't KNOW, Dan! I don't know anything!"

His face turned stony. "You are leaving. That's twice in just a few months, Laurie. You're always getting out of the door before the risks start piling up. First with Jon, now with me. You've let your mother run your ENTIRE life! Now she's got one foot in the grave from the booze and you're losing it because you don't know what's going to happen!"

'_Where'd mild-mannered Dan go?'_ a voice chimed snidely in her head.

Drawing her hand back, she let a hard slap land on his cheek with a strangled yell. She shouldered her way past his impassive body blocking the way to the stairs, clutching her bag to her chest. He didn't go after her; he stood there silently with his eyes fixed upon the spot where she had stood.

---

Laurie made it to a decent hotel room on in the Bronx which had minimal filth and a heater. The crumby TV on the stand had antennae wrapped in foil, the water was vaguely rust colored, and the sheets were a bit musty. Other than that, she could see herself getting along here for a few days while a realtor got together the paperwork for the loft on the Lower East-Side of the island she'd been looking to buy.

It was coming in on half a month since the incidents in October; most of the construction to repair the damage to Midtown was underway and local shops and businesses were up and running. Two days after the cataclysm had gone by when fresh water and electricity were finally back in order. In a week, evacuees were allowed back on the island to settle back into the homes not blown to kingdom come.

Veidt had swooped in on his white horse and gotten a donation drive started with his company, hassling the surviving city municipals to get the basics up and running.

'_He really has done the place well so far,' _she mused. Seated on the bed, she shucked off her boots and dirty leggings before crawling up to the head of it. Laurie slid between the sheets in her dress, resting her tousled head and mascara smeared face on the smoke-scented pillow.

'_This must be rock-bottom,' _she thought, staring at the water stains etched into the ceiling of the room. Flashes of Veidt's face ran through her head before weariness took her; the concern and tenderness in his hold on her shoulders was still a memory on the flesh.

'_He killed your fucking father,'_ that snide voice quipped inside her head. She closed her eyes, quiet tears slipping out of the corners. '_Not to mention that brutal kick to the stomach, but you had it coming with the gunshot.'_

She'd worry about everything in the morning. Everything could wait. '_He does smell divine.'_

On that note, she decided blankness was the best mindset to fall asleep in.

AN: Questions, comments, concerns? Feedback, please!

Nibs


	3. The Loft

AN: Go forth! Into a long chapter! Read and Review, please! Don't own Watchmen, belongs to all appropriate owners!

'_In Soviet Watchmen, thoughts go like dis!' _

"In Soviet Watchmen, dialogue go like dis!"

_In Soviet Watchmen, text in books/papers go like this!_

"_In Soviet Watchmen, spoken word on TV/Radio go like this!"_

Chapter 2 – The Loft

_Two Weeks Later_

The last boxes of Laurie's belongings were safely set inside the wide, empty rooms of the loft. The closing on the place had gone off without a hitch thanks to the extra thousand her mother offered on top of the buyout price. Along with the money, Sally had sent along more boxes of trinkets and a new set of furniture for the bedroom, office, and living area. Laurie had protested against the more than generous gift, squabbling with her mother on one of her daily calls to the rest home in California as the movers hauled in more belongings up the stairs. The one thing she had learned over the years was that saying 'Yes' to her mother's demands usually ended up in a micromanaged lifestyle for Laurie.

She had been swayed when she got a good look at the massive bedstead and king-sized mattress. Every piece of furniture her mother sent was classily done in dark woods with polished brass fixtures, glowing with an antique charm. After every piece was sorted and placed in the appropriate room, Laurie had set about unpacking for most of the day and into the evening. By now, it was completely dark outside the wide windows set along the long wall of the living room.

Taking care to remove the black and yellow latex and thigh high boots that made up her costume herself, she stored it in a locked case and set it far back into the closet of the office. All awards and official diplomas were hung in the appropriate places of honor there, her college diploma centered between her two bookshelves. It was a piece of personal pride and achievement, for Laurie. Her mother had wanted her to spend most of her physical prime 'in the family business', per say. Laurie fought tooth and nail for her mother to consider letting her attend college after the private tutoring that made up her high school experience, protesting that she would have to retire eventually, and prospects were brighter with a degree under her wing. Her mother shrugged it off, agreeing but adding that a husband could provide for what she lacked if she retired.

Laurie applied to most major New York universities, many eager to jump on the chance to get the famous Sally Jupiter's offspring enrolled in their programs. She scored more than a few acceptance letters, but only replied to one. Located on Manhattan Island itself, Columbia was a free-thinking school with a broad range of subjects for her to choose. She had considered majoring in just about anything, very young and excited in her freshman year to find her calling. Balancing homework and late night brawls in dirty alleyways with masked men required some adjustments and gallons of coffee, but college was more than enough freedom compared to her younger years. She and Jon were together by her freshmen year, meeting often every week for small dates and patrol.

In the beginning of her sophomore year, she had registered for a sketch class to clear away a requirement for general education. The instructor was surprisingly tough on the entry level class, drilling the students with every technique of contrast, shading, and a baffling concept she came to know as 'negative space'. She passed the class with a C. She had scored high in every other course: history, mathematics, English, and so forth. Art was her only weak suit at Columbia.

The menial grade had only driven her back into the class, determination to do better marking her every sketch she labored over. Gradually, she developed her skill far enough to pass the class with flying colors and a recommendation from the instructor to consider furthering her studies in Fine Arts. That had led her on to load up with every art course she could find at Columbia: sculpture, painting, photography, even a side course in architecture. You name it, she took it.

She had graduated with honors in Visual Arts. Not the most versatile major, but she loved what she did. By the time the spring of '70 rolled around, crime was in full bloom in New York and Vietnam was raging on. She moved in with Jon at Rockefeller Military base a year after graduation, hoping to find more time for her painting and possibly start a career of it in between her activities with the Watchmen.

'_It never worked out that way.'_

Laurie sighed, pushing sore memories to the back of her mind for later. She glanced back through the open doors of her living room, smiling.

'_Home sweet home,' _she smiled inwardly, a fizzle of excitement rising in her throat. The place was a dream; situated on the top floor of a renovated tenement building from the '20s, all the plumbing and electrical were up to date, and a killer view off of the fire escape running along one side of her floor added to the urban charm of the place. That was where she sat, perched on the rail in the crisp night air as she surveyed the new surroundings.

The World Trade Center made the biggest mark on the skyline, the massive twin towers disappearing halfway up into the low-lying mist of the evening showers on her left. If she leaned far out and peered around the building to the left, she could make out the patch of green known as Seward Park. The historically immigrant neighborhood of the Lower-East was predominantly Jewish, kosher groceries and synagogues characterizing the area along with a smattering of Italian-owned bistros and crammed bookshops.

The cold was starting to bite through the thin cotton of her shirt, causing her arms to fold over her breasts tightly as the shivers started. '_Time to turn in for the night.' _

She glanced up the side of the building at her open bedroom window, grinning. '_Wonder if I've still got it?'_

Laurie rose on the tips of her toes, using her fingertips to seek out easy purchases in the brick to hoist her to the ledge above. With some minor struggles, she managed to reach the open window of the room above.

This room was quickly becoming her favorite. It was a square little addition squatting on the roof of the building on a corner, windowed on the two walls facing the perilous drop to the balcony and street with a spiral stairway to the loft below set in the floor. It had taken skill and the burliest New York moving men to get the bed-frame and huge mattress through such a tight squeeze, but Laurie insisted that this was to be her bedroom on first sight.

Muted light rose up from the square-cut in the floor where the staircase was, creating a dim glow in one half of the room and darkness in the other as she eased bare feet onto the wooden floor. She padded softly to the bed after shutting and locking the window, crawling in-between the fresh cream-toned sheets.

'_Big day tomorrow_,' she thought sleepily, brushing the fringe of her bangs from her eyes, '_Really should grow these out.'_ She'd probably keep the length, but pull the bangs to the side like she used to before she started living with Jon.

It was time for a change in looks along with the many other new adjustments. Laurie had already began the switch to using the name Laurel Juspeczyk on paper, still true to the fact legally but different enough from Laurie Jupiter to dodge the press and make things flow a little smoother for a few months.

She blinked at the red numbers glaring at her from her bedside table, reminding her of the late hour and the need for sleep. After a little wiggling, she managed to lie at the end of the bed for a better view of the sleeping city through the windows. The building was situated a bit higher than most of the short structures making up the block, leaving her with an unobstructed view of Uptown.

Breathing easily, she let her eyes drift slowly shut, barely registering the faint purple glow of Veidt Tower in the distance.

---

'_Shit.'_

Laurie thought, straightening her skirt for the umpteenth time since she had arrived to the art gallery. She had gone through her morning routine early, making sure to look especially professional with a narrow pencil skirt and green blouse, throwing on a stylish blazer with shoulder pads emphasizing her outline.

The woman across from her was sizing the ensemble up, tapping an acrylic tipped nail against the countertop.

"You look the part, hun. Ain't I seen you before?" The woman trilled; her accent was heavily spiced with Jersey slang.

Laurie shook her head, smiling at the blonde. "Can't have. I just moved back from Toronto a few weeks ago."

She slid out the lie as smoothly as she handed over the required resume and credentials to the receptionist.

"Canadian, eh?"

The receptionist grinned, clicking her tongue over the minimal amount of previous work experience. The clicks and stretched expression halted as she got to the space where Laurie had filled in her education.

"Graduated from Columbia in '70 with a BA in Visual Arts, eh? Not too shabby." The nails started skittering to the phone, dialing a number before the receptionist picked it up.

"Mistah G, someone here to see ya about the opening," chirped the blonde, setting the phone down with a wink to Laurie. "Good luck, girlie. You've got this in the bag. Just maybe don't look him right in the eye, kay? The man can smell fear!"

---

The upper floor of the art gallery in Soho was a massive, cluttered space of easels, drapes, and work benches. One huge canvas she saw had to be the size of her office floor space, a halfway finished aerial perspective of the leveled Midtown. She winced, walking quickly past the work in progress.

'Mistah G' as the receptionist called him, Frank Grey to the public, was a renowned landscape artist. Laurie had studied some of his work when he was an up and coming painter under the wing of Andy Warhol himself in the '60s. Every painting from that bygone era was vibrant with the colors and themes Warhol had instilled in his protégé, but the works resting on the easels here were somber and starkly colored.

The man had heard the clacking of her heels on the floor, standing up from the tall stool with a bit of effort. Slight of figure with fine-boned features, Grey failed to meet her statuesque height. His hair was a dusted with silver, crow's feet deep set beside his probing, dark eyes.

'_Has to be around mom's age,' _Laurie pondered. She held her ground against his scrutiny, standing tall and proud before extending a hand to shake. Grey's dark stare never quite wandered from her own blue-eyed gaze, only breaking away to look for the turpentine soaked rag that rested on the paint splotched workbench. He methodically scrubbed the wettest of the paint stains from his spidery hands, finally reaching out to grasp Laurie's hand in a vice-like shake. '_Ouch. Old man has a hold.'_

"Good to meet you finally, Mr. Grey. I'm a fan of the work you did back in the '70s," she murmured, hiding a smile when she noticed the corner of his mouth twitch at that.

"Only the '70s? What was so particular about my work in that decade that makes you a fan?" he rasped, his voice used and worn. '_Chain smoker.' _

She kept her serious expression pasted on her face, "Just that the color schemes you focused on were very inspiring. All the earth tones in your _Africana_ series motivated me to base my senior work-piece at Columbia on a landscape."

If Grey was surprised, he wasn't showing it. He cocked his head, his narrow chin dropping slightly as he eyed her from head to toe, "Columbia's still spitting out rich amateurs?"

"You read the resume I mailed, then? Did you take a look at the portfolio I had forwarded from the Registrar's office at Columbia?" she asked, ignoring the biting comment.

"I did. You're hired as a gallery assistant, for now." Grey muttered, turning back to his painting.

"Would you be interested in letting me use the studio? I can pay, you know. Time isn't an issue for me besides my work hours." Laurie ventured, staring at the bony lines of his back protruding from the thick sweater.

Grey turned his head, sizing her up with those dark eyes once more. "We'll see. For now, I'll see you at seven A.M sharp. For reference, I like my coffee black. Be sure to leave your house number with Tiffany. Welcome to Grey Gallery, Miss. Juspeczyk."

---

Yvonne's limp was getting better.

For one, she had swallowed her pride and taken to using a crutch. The ridiculous woman still insisted on wearing a strappy high-heel on her left foot while the right leg from the knee down was totally encased in plaster.

She practically thundered across the slick marble of his office floor, a file in her free hand and an expression which could only be called determination on her face. Her strange gait was halted at the few steps that led up to his desk, "Sir, I have the files you wanted updated."

Adrian nodded, politely rising up from his work to stride over to the handicapped assistant to take the files from her extended hand. _'Whatever I'm paying her, I need to double it.'_

Yvonne nodded, asking if there was anything else he needed. Adrian shook his head, already engrossed in the papers before him. The secretary gave a slight roll of the eyes, beginning the long trudge out of the office and back to her desk.

He sorted through the folders of snapshots and documents he kept on every former comrade of his. Rorschach's file had been shredded along with Jon's; most closing information on the two had been stored on a floppy disc and locked away in his personal safe.

'_So she's left Dreiberg,' _he thought, thumbing through the documents. Laurie and Dan's files had been updated at his request a day ago. While Dan was apparently looking into a possible job in a recovering Wall Street financial firm, Laurie was completely moved out into a new apartment in the un-damaged downtown. _'They were an odd couple.'_

Adrian looked over the snapshot briefly, noting the luster back in Laurie's eyes. Her hair, lank and stringy at the memorial, was back to its usual thick vibrancy and well past her elbows. The bangs were getting longer, he noted, a clip holding them back to the side. It reminded him of when he first was introduced to a younger Silk Spectre.

_Laurie Juspeczyk _

_Born December 2__nd__, 1949_

_Father: Deceased; Edward Blake_

_Mother: Living; Sally Jupiter_

_Alias: Silk Spectre_

'_She'll be thirty six in a week.' _

Adrian snapped the file over the photo of the pretty face, frowning. He'd take a spin around the Lower-East side before dinner, perhaps.

---

"_With more death counts rolling in, New York is suffering from a serious windfall of financial deficit. Thanks to donations from major corporations such as Veidt Industries, city officials have been able to boost repairs on ground zero of Midtown significantly. Projected completion of all rebuilding is set as far as two years from now." _said the TV, listing off a practical laundry list of daily events.

Laurie had stepped out of the kitchen, leaning against the doorjamb with a cup of hot coffee in hand. She had left Grey Gallery in Soho after the interview with a very light spring in her step and an urge to furnish her new place further.

After three or so hours, she had ordered kitchen appliances and bought cutlery, crockery, and all things miscellaneous with that room. Her shower boasted a curtain and thick bathmat while she had given up and splurged on the flashy '81 Zenith consol in celebration of her new job. The thing blended in with the furniture, looking like a bulky side table save the thick glass set in the middle of the cherry wood finish. The sofa seemed destined for it; the overstuffed red fabric bulging out with cushy padding was perfect for long nights in front of the glowing screen.

She had made her way gradually back to her neighborhood, choosing to walk the way with her many bags and purchases. Laurie was not about to get out of shape since retiring from her 'night job'.

A knock around the corner interrupted her chain of thought, the coffee mug almost slipping from her loose grip.

"Shii-it!" she cursed as the hot liquid dribbled over her fingers and onto a bare thigh. Hissing, she set it down on the floor, swiping off the burning coffee from the red patch of skin on her leg. She had changed into shorts and a ratty tee for the evening, expecting a quiet night in sorting out more boxes of belongings.

Laurie stumbled to the door, turning the corner and sliding the bolt of the door open with an irritated sigh.

She readied a curt retort for whoever stood there, but was halted by the sight of the visitor himself.

Adrian Veidt stood in the dim hallway, a hazy light behind him creating a halo effect on the gold strands of his hair. He held out a small bundle of pink orchids to her in offering, a polite smile ghosting across his lips.

"Laurie. I was in the neighborhood and I thought I'd drop by. May I come in?"

---

AN: Just thought I'd spark up a little inspiration talk for this part of the story. From all the sources in Watchmen, we become aware of the back-story of Sally Jupiter, the original Silk Spectre. She changed her surname from Juspeczyk to a more Americanized Jupiter due to Polish ancestry, probably either to hide Jewish ties from a predominantly Anti-Semitic public, deterring her parents from finding her, or prevent suspicion of Nazi-support that would stem from such an Old World last name. The Lower East side is a hub for immigrant culture even today; I thought it ideal for a sort of home-base for Laurie to develop her own individuality and grow as a character.

In any case, Silk Spectre I was a runaway turned burlesque dancer and crime-fighter. Charismatic, hot thing going for her, eh? She became a sex symbol and heroic icon for World War II America before retiring to give birth and raise the resulting daughter, Laurie. I'm hoping to expand on the possibility of Laurie having a Jewish heritage along with her known Polish links, and mesh it with the opposing yet matching charm of Adrian's Germanic heritage and Nazi affiliation. Obviously he's ashamed of his roots and Laurie wants to embrace hers.

The thing that irked me most about Watchmen (Movie and Graphic Novel) was the lack of identity Laurie had. It was all about how her mother ran her life and she was always shacked up with some hunk or such. Sure she could kick ass and had a built back-round that most of her inner monologue was centered on, but I would've loved to see her personality developed a little further. Even Dan got his little diatribe in at the end of the movie when he bitch-slapped Adrian into the Great Wall O' TV!

Two kids of the Old Country making it big in the New World is such an appealing writing experience to me. On top of the history they have so far, it gives undercurrents with their background and basic roots. Besides the basic drama to work through between the pair, I see this as a fun couple to write.

That's my two cents! Discuss! Review!

Nibs


	4. Strictly Business

AN: Clashing on! Another chapter! Read and review! Watchmen belongs to all appropriate owners; I don't own it!

My thanks to Martine Brook, WhenHedgehogsFly, BehindGreenEyes, Billygoat, and Miss Stepped for their kind words and encouragement. I very much appreciated the reviews!

I like to work outside my comfort zone. It opens up new avenues to go down in a creative manner! This pairing is definitely _way _out of it, and that's partly why I chose it. In relation to Veidt's sexual orientation, the movie leaves a lot open to interpretation with the Club 54 scene. Other than that, there's no indication he is gay. Rorschach does state in the novel Veidt could be homosexual, but it's never confirmed or denied.

In my mind, I see Adrian as an emulator of Alexander the Great in many aspects. One similarity that could be true is that they're both bisexual. Everyone's got their own spin on things, but I do believe Veidt to be bisexual and not straight up homosexual.

'_In Soviet Watchmen, thoughts go like dis!' _

"In Soviet Watchmen, dialogue go like dis!"

_In Soviet Watchmen, text in books/papers go like this!_

"_In Soviet Watchmen, spoken word on TV/Radio go like this!"_

Chapter 3 – Strictly Business 

He had never expected her to react that quickly. As soon as he had extended his small peace offering of the delicate orchids, Laurie had the door almost completely shut. Adrian sighed, quickly sliding his fingers through the narrowing sliver of open air.

Throwing a shoulder against the solid wood, he managed to throw her force back at her easily. Sliding through the wider gap, he neatly closed the door the rest of the way before setting his back to it, smiling at Laurie.

Her face was fixed into a look of disbelief as she sat sprawled out on the floor before him. It had all gone down in a matter of seconds, Adrian's quickness showing itself to be almost superhuman.

He reached out, offering a gloved hand to the deposed woman with her bum seemingly glued to the floor. Laurie snarled, scrambling to her feet as she threw a cheap punch at his midsection, almost screaming in frustration as he caught her fist deftly.

"Laurie," he made a disapproving 'Tsk' at her sloppy form. He had seen immaculate, although showy, fighting skills from her before. She was throwing hooks like a common street brawler in this state. "You're letting yourself go."

Adrian frowned, twisting the fist back and around to pin her to the opposite wall, her arm at a socket-wrenching angle between them. He kept Laurie in the solid hold, using the gentlest voice he could muster, "I was hoping we could talk."

She bit down on her lip, glaring at the tall body that had her pinned to the apartment wall, "Let go and back off."

He nodded, backing off slowly before removing himself to the living room to give her a moment.

The place was spacious; in the corner he noticed a winding stairway that led up into a dark recess, a steaming coffee mug was set on the floor by the couch, and a long side-table held stacks of magazines, books, and papers waiting to be sorted and shelved.

Laurie quietly came into the room behind him, rubbing at the sore wrist and shoulder.

"What are you here for?" she asked softly, her face downcast as she made her way past him to the abandoned coffee mug. She lifted it off the floor, her back to him as she tilted the mug to her lips and took a long drink.

"Talk. Just to talk," he answered, shoving his hands into the pockets of his coat as his eyes grazed over the skin of her slim arms, long legs, and shapely feet.

He had never seen her free of make-up and completely dressed down in their long acquaintance. While the sight of dark hair spilling down her back was a familiar one, Laurie had always had a thick application of mascara on, and either her gear or tasteful clothing draped on the model-like lines of her body. The worn out old shirt and paint-splotched shorts were uncharacteristically shabby for the fashionable woman, but comfortable looking.

She turned about, drawing his gaze back up her body to her wan face. Adrian straightened up, taking the seat she motioned to as Laurie took hers, perched warily on the edge of the couch. He shifted back into the rigid chair, undoubtedly belonging to a formal dining table and waiting to be carried into the appropriate room.

"I want to be direct with you, Laurie. We can't exactly go on with normal life with the responsibilities we've been placed with," Veidt ventured, stating his point bluntly to the fellow vigilante. "I have need of you."

"And you killed my father." Laurie quickly cut to her point as well, staring at him bluntly. "You can find your own fucking lackey. Call Dan, if it comes down to it. But not me."

"The Comedian was not the great hero the media made him out to be. That hair of yours would curl if you knew half of what I've heard about him, Laurie. I'd love to keep you in the dark, but it was his time. I did what I did to save _billions_," his voice hoarsened, a tightly strung growl by the end as his fists curled tight into themselves. "You hated him for most of his time alive, from what I know. After Hollis Mason put out that book, _everyone_ knew what he did to your mother."

Laurie went along with his words, nodding numbly. "Your save the world speech is starting to lose its charm, Veidt."

'_Still shell-shocked…stubborn._'

Adrian frowned; a dark, brooding expression captured his angular face in its irritation. He didn't quite know why he felt he needed to justify killing the Comedian to Laurie. Veidt could just as well manipulate her into his new plan with other less pleasant alternatives; why he chose to reason with the difficult and notably fickle woman was a mystery to him.

"He killed a pregnant woman in Saigon," Adrian produced a small black and white photo from his pocket, laying it by her hand on the couch. Laurie picked up the ragged photo, her eyes darting over the round face and slanted eyes of the young woman. She was dressed in a cheap print-dress, but sat proudly in a high-backed chair for the camera. "I had some of my people at a branch office in Vietnam dig that up. Blake was never charged with her murder since the government covered it up as a war-time fatality."

Laurie paled significantly, her hand shaking as she raised the cup to her lips. She said nothing, staring silently across the way at him.

"Jon never mentioned it to you, did he? He was there at the bar when Blake shot her down," Veidt added. "The baby she was carrying would have been your half-sibling."

Laurie looked like she nearly choked on the hot coffee she was sipping, choking it down before it could bubble back up her throat and out of her mouth. She inhaled hard, setting down the cup on the floor before staring back up at him with wild eyes. "You're lying."

"I can have my people in Ho Chi Min mail in the formal report and the woman's identification papers, if you'd like." He would counter her denial with hard facts, if need be. Adrian couldn't afford to not have her involved in the plans he held for the future New York. Their numbers were slimmed down to only three healthy, young bodies as of now. "If that doesn't convince you, I can have her body exhumed for an autopsy."

"No! I believe you," Laurie quavered, a few tears sliding over her high, sharp cheekbones. "Jon told me about how he and Blake were in a bar just after the Vietcong surrendered. It was just a year before we moved in together…he brought it up after patrol with the Comedian. A woman came in asking Blake for support for the baby that night and things got messy, he said."

The woman slumped, burying her head in her hands as the thick curtain of her hair obscured her face. "Everything's been happening so fast. I've pushed back all these little clues and hints for later, thinking I'll get around to sorting this mess out," she rasped, looking up at him. "And to complicate things, I'm on polite terms with a mass-murderer."

"Hmph," Adrian hummed, a bit toughened by now to her barbs. "And what about Dan? Where does he fit into all of this?"

"I jumped into things with Dan too quickly. After living with Jon for so long, it was just this amazing sensation to have another human to connect to," Laurie slumped, squeezing the coffee mug in her hands. "Then the smoke started to clear after everything in October and I panicked. I've always lived my life to please others and I've never had the chance to go after what I want, and I realized it too late into things with Dan. I couldn't avoid hurting him one way or the other."

"So you left?" Adrian offered, studying her face intently.

"Yes," Laurie breathed, her lips twisting up into a small smile. "It felt…liberating."

"Didn't you consider what it would do to Dan?"

"Did you consider how killing millions would affect those that cared about them?" Laurie spat back, her nails biting into the worn edges of the photo. "You're the last person to be accusing someone of being inconsiderate, Veidt."

"I'm too tired to be having this conversation. You're a top intellectual and you practically breathe philosophy from what I've seen," she sighed, laying the photo back into his hand and closing his fingers around it. "I'd prefer it if you'd keep this for now, please."

'_More than stubborn._'

Adrian relaxed back into the chair, folding his arms over his chest as he looked over the room. The landscape above the mantelpiece was well-done, albeit simple with its pastoral theme and flowering meadows. It seemed that he would have to needle her into position, if his plan was to go into effect.

"I understand that you're working for Frank Grey. A very great painter…" Adrian commented offhandedly, "You should know that I am one of his primary benefactors as of last week. I support the charity paintings he has been producing lately; very dedicated worker, Grey is."

He turned his wandering eyes on her before elaborating, "I'd hate to make him fire you, if you will not cooperate with me. He may be stubborn, but I help with the bills and the flow of patrons."

Laurie's mouth dropped open, the prettiness of her expressive lips ruined as she twisted them into a grimace. "This is blackmail."

"And this is more complicated than what I expected, Laurie. Could you really go to the police? You, I, and Dan all hold a secret that requires much responsibility. It's time for you to own up to it, as you made a vow when you left Karnack alive; Rorschach disagreed, and look where that got him. He's a grease-spot on the ice, Laurie."

"Which you _caused, _you bastard! You knew he wouldn't keep quiet, because unlike the rest of us he had the moral backbone to know keeping this all quiet was _wrong._" Laurie was practically hissing at him, her body coiled tight as a spring.

"We'll argue morals after my work is done," Adrian said with firm finality, like a father reprimanding a child for asking the reasoning behind it all. "If you want to keep that job, I suggest you meet me tomorrow to at least talk an arrangement out."

Laurie did not make a move to concede or rebel. She simply sat on the edge of the couch, her mouth moving as she tried to work up the words to say.

"Glad we talked, Laurie. I'll see you in the office at nine. Try to be prompt."

Adrian rose, straightening out the immaculate lines of his suit and coat before dropping the bouquet of orchids on the paper-laden table. He nodded to her, brushing back the fringe of gold hair that had fallen out of place and into his eyes.

"You really are a low-account asshole," Laurie snapped, finally finding the right phrase as she rose to her feet. She wavered, holding a hand to her head before her knees buckled and her body fell like a stone to the floor.

'_Scheiss,' _Adrian thought, staring at the prone form of the woman at his feet.

In the end, the evening was exactly what he expected.

Even more, perhaps.

---

The alarm was blaring in her ear.

Laurie inhaled deeply, bolting upright in the swaddling of cream colored sheets.

'_Fuck,' _she groaned, resting her head in her hands as the events of the evening rushed back into her foggy mind.

She had caved in to emotional pressure last night, passing out like a complete wimp in front of debatably the most powerful man in the world.

The clock read 5:30 as she stabbed at the 'Off' switch of the alarm, her fingers meeting with the feeling of smooth cardstock on top of the device. She lifted the card to her face in the dim, pre-dawn light.

In his flowing script, Veidt had left her a message.

_L,_

_You looked uncomfortable on the floor. I hope you're not alarmed with me handling you to get you into a bed. You're not doing yourself a favor in running yourself ragged. _

_See you at nine this evening, Spectre. _

_A.V_

_P.S- The alarm is set to five thirty. Turn on the news._

She fought against the covers, finally untangling her legs from the skein of sheets and blankets before vaulting down the staircase. She didn't quite know what Veidt was up to, but the last time he had anything to do with a news channel it tuned into Nixon announcing mass slaughter on a globe-wide scale.

Her fingers trembled on the power button, finally gathering up the courage to depress the hard plastic to make the screen fuzz and screech to life.

"_And so, after a short period of only eight years in action, the Keene Act has been repealed by Congress in light of the tragic attacks that struck the globe only a month ago. Due to a severe shortage of municipal authority and a developing criminal network resulting from a lack of law and order in Los Angeles and New York, the government is calling back all masked heroes from their forced retirement to do their civic duty in the nation's time of need. President Nixon spoke from the White House in an emergency meeting yesterday detailing the consequences of the repeal, stating that all masked vigilantes are to be reinstated as government agents pending their return to law enforcement."_

If her jaw could drop any further, it'd unhinge. The TV panned out of its recorded clip of the flabby Nixon to the handsome face of Adrian Veidt, standing tall and proud before his office desk as he was interviewed.

"'_As a retired vigilante, I can say that I fully endorse any of my former companions in their decision to return to the streets if they choose. Although I may possibly be the only surviving member of the Watchmen, as Dr. Manhattan exists in a state that couldn't really be categorized as 'living', I have hope that Rorschach, Silk Spectre, and the Nite Owl made it out of New York alive. Reports from the penitentiary where Rorschach and the others were seen putting down the riots indicate the group all left alive and well, and no intact remains have been identified from the attacks that show the known dental or medical records of Rorschach or Silk Spectre.'"_

Laurie gaped at the image further, finally snapping her mouth shut as she turned the TV off. The screen fizzed out on Adrian's smile with an audible CLICK, static crackling across the glass.

She scrambled off the cold floor, maintaining an agitated posture as she glared across the room through the windows. If she squinted hard enough, she could make out the purple glow coming off Veidt's building uptown.

She had thought the Keene Act was one of the things that had straightened life out for her for a short while, but her viewpoint was in a rapid turnabout since the events at Karnack. Veidt had turned her life upside down with his 'World Peace' bullshit, cornering her into what she knew was a binding-deal in the making. She was snapped out of her reverie as the clock chimed a quarter till six.

'_Work in a bit. I'll worry about this mess later,'_ she frowned inwardly.

She pushed the thoughts back, bringing to the forefront of her mind the day of work ahead.

Pushing up off the floor, she made her way quickly to the kitchen, starting up the bulky coffee maker to begin the process of making a fresh cup before her shower.

'_I'm gonna need it.'_

---

Tiffy, the name she insisted upon Laurie to call her by, was a bubbly companion in the over-bright space of the gallery. The young heroine had taken a shine to her, seeing past the gaudy acrylics and perfect perm. Tiffy was a bright girl if not an intellectual. She had run Laurie through the basic office routines she performed on the off chance she called in sick and Laurie had to fill in. After a thorough briefing in diction-taking and typing on the semi-modern personal writer on the desk in the back office, she drilled Laurie in customer etiquette.

"We're tryin' to turn a profit here, hun. You've gotta sell Mistah G's work here since he pays us on the commissions he makes from private contractors and the money he make down here," she stabbed a pen to the desk with each heart-felt word for emphasis. "You wanna get paid? Same. I've been takin' the office work since Jodi quit, but since Bianca died just last month you've gotta fill her shoes in."

"Bianca?" Laurie asked, a feeling of foreboding settling over her.

"Yeah, Bianca. She was runnin' an errand for Mistah G before heading home for the night. Buyin' up some fabric from a designer friend of Mistah G's in the Garment district when the explosion blew the hell out of Midtown. Poor man hasn't quite stopped blamin' himself," Tiffy sighed, glancing up at the ceiling as if she was staring at the solemn countenance of Frank Grey himself on the floor above. "And to think it could've been me, eh? I called in sick 'cause of my kids. They were still achin' from scarfin' Halloween candy on the sly, y'know? So she had to cover for my errands that day…"

Tiffy tilted her head farther back, her eyes shining as the tears bubbled up in her bright eyes. Laurie politely turned her head away from Tiffy, trying to ignore the growing pinpricks of heat behind her eyes.

"Mr. Grey must have to put out a lot of work to make ends meet. I wouldn't think anyone would have time for art at a time like this." Laurie offered the slight question up to Tiffy in hopes of getting the conversation back on a more comfortable subject. This woman's remorse over being an indirect cause of her friend's death was nothing compared to the guilty secret Laurie harbored in her heart.

"Oh, no!" Tiffy objected, her eyes clearing up a bit as she focused back on Laurie. "Have you taken a look at what he's puttin' out now?"

The blonde whisked past her, tugging at her hand as she led her into the front portion of the gallery. All the pieces centered under the lighting were displayed on white walls, stark in the bright glow.

Tiffy pointed out a piece to the side, a picture of a very pretty brunette holding a newborn done in soft pastels. "That'll be Bianca."

Laurie stepped closer to the painting, the knot in her chest tightening like a noose as she looked at her predecessor. "She had a baby?"

"Little Em? Yeah…poor thing is with her dad. He's been takin' Bianca's passin' harder than the baby. Em ain't but six months old. They live Jersey side near me, y'see. I got Bianca the job when she quit the temp work at a legal office at the Trade Center in downtown."

Laurie nodded along as Tiffy relayed her story, turning away from the happy scene of mother and child on the canvas before her. "Is Mr. Grey selling it?"

Tiffy shook her head, "Nah, he has it up for people to make an offer on it. When they do, we usually rope the rich shmucks into donating to Em's trust-fund Mr. Grey set up for her. Sweet thing for him to do, ain't it? Anywho, he's set on givin' the paintin' to Bianca's husband with the trust-fund account for Em at Christmas."

"That's sweet of Mr. Grey. Meaning to say, he seems very…remote. But I don't know him quite as personally as you do."

Tiffy grinned at her, clasping a friendly hand to the white shrouded shoulder of her new co-worker. "Girly, you've gotta stick around a while for the nice parts of him to start showin' up."

Tiffy led her around the rest of the gallery, explaining that the revenue they were bringing in was some of the best they'd had since the opening of the place.

"Mistah G is doin' charity pieces along with the commissions. All these landscapes of Midtown and the few places he's seen since bring in about fifty grand a piece. The portraits y'see besides Bianca's painting are all of the celebrities that died in the explosions. A few wealthier families have commissions for him lined up when more time frees up. All this artwork is sorta immortalizin' them and the attacks for those of us still hanging around alive, y'see? You won't have any shortage of customers comin' in lookin' to buy a piece or donate to the cause behind it. About a quarter of the profits go to Mistah G, thereby us. The rest goes to the organization sponsorin' us."

Tiffy waved her hands at the walls littered with the art, "There's a big market for it, and we make a profit from the people wantin' to find an expression for the grief. But the painting ain't just a way to make the green-backs. These all still have got a ton of sentimental value for Mistah G as a painter. After we got word Bianca was caught up in the explosion, he holed himself up in the studio and didn't come down for _days,_ Laurel. He came out draggin' that portrait of Bianca and Em he managed to paint in all that weepin' and thrashin' around upstairs. He bolted the studio door and had a work-bench blockin' it. Even the Army Corp the government sent in to evacuate the island couldn't make him budge. They just left him be."

Laurie felt a small trickle of awe for Grey well in her heart, looking towards the back of the gallery where the solitary staircase led up the heavy door of the studio. "That's pretty amazing."

"Ain't it?" Tiff sighed, tapping a pink nail to her rosy cheek before adding offhandedly, "I'm feelin' like lunch, and Mistah G doesn't take any meals but breakfast and dinner."

Laurie nodded in understanding, taking down another mental note of the mysterious Grey and his routine revealing itself through Tiff's diatribe. If she wanted to start up painting again with proper instruction, she would have to work her way into his good favor.

'_Best way to a man's heart is through his stomach,'_ she thought dryly, remembering his preference for black coffee.

"How about Italian?" Laurie asked tentatively, shrugging helplessly at the blonde.

"I'll get the coats! Gosh, haven't eaten out in so long!" Tiffy skittered off to the back office, handing Laurie the somber gray coat while she shrugged on an elaborate, fur-lined white one. "I know this cozy little bistro down in Little Italy. Pastrami is to _die _for. We'll lock up here and leave Mistah G to his work in peace for a bit."

Tiffy took Laurie by the elbow, chattering on like a chipper Macaw in all her bright plumage of pink, white, and yellow.

They set off down the cold block, huddling close together with elbows interlocked against the battering winds.

Laurie felt a small sense of belonging already. Here she was, nearly thirty-six without a single 'girlfriend'. Even in college the attempts at forming close bonds with other Columbia girls had been a miserable experience. They either ended up intimidated, jealous, star-struck, or uninterested by her status as a vigilante. Having a boyfriend who radiated fluorescent blue and materialized out of thin air to escort her out didn't help the issue.

Tiffy was a sharp girl, and after further inquiry over breadsticks a tall cappuccinos at the bistro minutes after they left the gallery, Laurie discovered her to be just shy of thirty-three.

"You're younger than me!" Laurie exclaimed, grinning ruefully at the petite woman across the table. Tiffy waved her hand dismissively, rolling her eyes.

"Laurel, you don't look a day over twenty-five. I'm the old hag here with two pregnancies spacin' out my hips and saggin' my skin. The kids themselves are a real ager, too!" Tiffy laughed half-heartedly, taking out her pocketbook to shove the smiling images of two cherubic faces under Laurie's nose. "Ain't they cute little devils, though?"

Laurie smiled widely at the two blonde kids in the photos, noting the snub noses. She glanced up at the beaming face of Tiffy, noting the same snub nose. "They take after their mom, it seems."

Tiffy bobbed her head, snapping the pocketbook shut before tucking it away into her handbag. "Maybe the nose and the hair and the smarts, but they got the trickiness from their dad."

The tiny ring of the doorbell chimed in the front, causing one of the attendants of the bistro to stride from the back kitchens to the newcomers. Loud, boisterous voices came from the entryway the attendant disappeared into. Laurie didn't give it much thought as the place was packed with yuppies and white-collar diners flooding in for the lunch break.

'_Probably another lunch meeting.' _Laurie sipped at her cappuccino, focusing back on Tiffy's story involving a dishwasher and the trouble-making antics of her youngest kid, Charlene.

It wasn't until Tiffy stopped mid-sentence to stare that Laurie took notice of the commotion, her eyes going wide as she focused on the newly arrived group being escorted to a table in a corner of the restaurant.

'_I really can't shake him off, it seems.'_

Tiffy gaped, shaking her head as if to clear it. "Correct me if I'm wrong, Laurel, but isn't that Adrian Veidt?"

Laurie nodded, wincing internally as Veidt glanced in their direction.

'_Don't give me away,'_ she thought quietly, trying to communicate that to Veidt with a heated look. He seemed to get the picture, turning his attention away from her table as a man in his entourage piped up with a question. Tiffy's attention was also blessedly captured as the dishes were served, the waiter placing the steaming platters of food before the hungry women.

Laurie stabbed the fork into her salad, determined to ignore the broad-shouldered billionaire in the back of the restaurant. This was proving to be hard as people began to take notice of the famous figure, a few brave women venturing close to the table to shyly request an autograph. Adrian seemed to accept every request, smiling as he scribbled his signature on napkins, handkerchiefs, and even a briefcase for one enthusiastic man.

"What's Apollo doin' off Mount Olympus, eh?"Tiffy muttered into her plate, twirling a forkful of noodles and catching a slice of veal onto the prongs. "Not that I mind. The man does pay the bills, y'know. I've cashed checks from Veidt Industries for Grey that have so many zeros they make your head spin just thinkin' about 'em."

"Taking lunch, I think," Laurie responded, glancing back over to the crowded table in the back. "You think he'd order in at a board room or have the thing at a more upscale place. Not that this isn't perfectly nice!" Laurie amended quickly, not wanting to sound snobbish to her new co-worker.

Tiffy glanced up from her plate, winking slyly to the brunette across the table before looking over at the crowd of women building up around Adrian. "Huh. He's a charmer. No clue he was the least bit fond of the gals. All my gossip mags say he's gay as springtime!"

Laurie choked on a bite of tomato and shredded mozzarella, managing a strangled laugh after she swallowed it down. "Guess he swings both ways?"

"Guess so," Tiffy agreed before they switched into lighter topics. Soon, they had cleared their bowls and called for the check.

Laurie excused herself from the table, heading to the restroom to freshen up her lipstick and relieve a very full bladder.

She exited the bathroom into the dim-lit, tiny hall leading back to the dining room, accidently bumping into a figure making his way to the bathrooms. Predictably, Veidt had conveniently excused himself to the bathroom as well. He slipped by her, pressing a wad of soft paper into her hand without a word.

Laurie did not look back, up, or over at his retreating form, keeping her sight straight ahead as she weaved her way through the tables back to Tiffy with the napkin stowed away in her coat pocket.

The check was paid, and they made their way out of the restaurant and onto the cold street. They huddled into their coats and struck up small talk about the cold temperature, hoping for a few warmer days before the official start of winter.

Taking care to be subtle, she slipped the napkin from her pocket, falling a step behind Tiffy to obscure the message from her sight. Laurie frowned over the hastily scrawled message.

_Nine tonight. Ask the doorman for my private suite at the Tower. He'll know where to take you. _

_A.V_

A.N: Just a small notice! I've got collegiate spring break coming up! Be watching for a double whammy as I knock out two more chapters and speed things along for our gorgeous couple! Gotta love those lazy days by the lake with the laptop!

Nibs


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